They let go of me, but not before using me as leverage, as a result, my head gets pushed to the floor and my face feels the liquid on the floor. I try not to think what it is, but I fail and realize its urine. My insides feel heavy, and I feel so tired and my eyes begin to water. But I stop myself. I’m not going to cry in front of these b****es, it’ll show that I’m weak. And I’m not gonna let them have the satisfaction of realizing that. I think. I’m gonna get up, brush myself off, and leave.

I did get up, I did brush myself off, but what I didn’t do was leave. I stared at Martin in the eyes and saw something I didn’t expect, sorrow. But that didn’t matter, inside me was a storm of rage in a sea of hate. So I did what I wanted to do most at the time, punch him and I did. A fierce uppercut. It connected beautifully with his chin and threw his head back. He stumbled backward and his back hit the bathroom wall. He looked at me in shock and I just looked back in indifference. And then I saw something in his eyes, something I was so used to, it didn’t affect me anymore, rage. He recovered and tried to hit me back, I dodged and his fist swung through the air. He looked to the back-up men he brought with him. S***. I forgot about those bastards. I thought.

One of them grabbed my left arm and another grabbed my right. I struggled as hard as I could, but they held on tight. They weren’t gonna let go any time soon. I looked at Martin, he was still in rage mode, so he did what his mind was telling him, to punch me. Get even, punch that terrorist so he can hurt nobody else. And he did.
Martin looked at his two men holding my arms, and they stared back, waiting for some entertainment. They tightened their grip on my arms, and when Martin noticed, he brought his arm back and it sailed to hit my nose again. It broke and started to bleed, blackness was around the edges of my eyes, and I started to sink to the ground, but Martin’s men didn’t think so. They tightened their grip on me once again, and they brought me up again for another punch. Martin didn’t want to stop, his face had a look of crazed happiness. He pulled his arm back again and punched, this time he went straight to the middle of my face. When he hit, white-hot pain seared through me and I groaned. I looked up again and Martin was looking at his “friends”. They let go of me and I hit the urine-stained floor. That didn’t stop Martin though. He just started punching at me, and so did his “friends”. I curled up in a ball, but they still continued. Somebody was hitting my back, another was hitting my stomach, and Martin was kicking me with all his strength. Each kick sent white-hot pain through me. And with each punch and kick, I was another hit closer to my death.

After a while, they stopped and left me, but not before spitting on me and destroying what little self-respect I gathered after the beat down they gave me. What remained was gone the second the spit landed on my head. They left and finally, I could fall into the unconsciousness they never let me go into.

I woke up to find a blurred image of someone above of my face. I thought it was Martin so I just moaned and turned over, I think I said something along the lines of “Leave me alone. Please.” but I was beat up and dizzy so it must have came out garbled. Soon my vision cleared and I saw who it really was, the janitor. Even he hated Muslims, I knew I was in trouble now. So I just let it happen, but surprisingly, he didn’t beat me up, he didn’t yell at me. Instead, he just left. He just walked out of the bathroom and left.